You Say Tomato
by DogwoodsAndBluebells
Summary: They both agreed that they finally clicked as partners during the infamous mission to Budapest, but Natasha found that their definitions of the word 'partner' were clearly not the same. Rated for language.


Summary: They both agreed that they finally clicked as partners during the infamous mission to Budapest, but Natasha found that their definitions of the word 'partner' were clearly not the same. Rated for language.

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

* * *

You Say Tomato

The glowing numbers of the digital clock read eight after three in the morning, and Natasha sighed in frustration at the hour. Running a hand through her hair, she winced when her fingers snagged on the tangles in her curls. Battle wasn't exactly conducive to good hair days, and after dinner, nothing had mattered but showering the black blood off of her body and crawling into bed for the next forever.

She shifted, desperately trying to ignore the throbbing in her ankle enough to get comfortable, which should not have been hard in a bed as nice as this one. Tony didn't really spare expense when it came to comfort. There hadn't been a question after dinner at the dive Tony had taken them to. The Avengers had simply loaded back into the limousine and disembarked at what remained of Stark Tower. Tony, ever the gracious host, had thrown blankets at them and pointed towards the guest rooms before disappearing into his own.

She couldn't really blame him, she supposed, thinking back to the stunt he'd pulled with the nuke. Stark had earned some rest after that, no question. Her ankle gave another sharp twinge and she started to rise when she heard the creak of the floor right outside her room. Sighing instead, she scooted closer to the wall, making room for the only person brave enough to pick the locks on her door. Clint ghosted into the room, and perched on the edge of her bed rather than slipping beneath the coverlet. She sat up, raking her hand through her hair and mussing it further than it already was.

"Something on your mind?" Her voice was gravely, strained with all the dust and shouting from the battle. Clint pulled his legs onto the bed, curling his arms around them and making him look far younger than she was used to seeing him.

"You said it was just like Budapest," he murmured, eyes unfocused and staring off into a corner of the room. She frowned.

"Well, yeah." Crawling out from beneath the covers, she took hold of his arm and tugged him further onto the bed. He sprawled out, leaning his bandaged back against the wall and holding out an arm for her to curl into. "Didn't you think it was?"

He glanced at her, a smile playing at the corners of his lips, and she knew that he was asking her about Budapest less because he wanted to know and more because he didn't want to think about everything else anymore. "I don't remember it being like that."

Her frown deepened. "How could you not?"

* * *

_"It would seem that my cover is blown," she shouted over the ear splitting sound of gunfire. Barton popped over the low wall they were using as a shield and fired an explosive arrow into the melee. _

_Dropping back down as the explosion shattered whatever windows remained in the warehouse across the way, he glared at her. "No shit."_

_Shooting him a matching scowl, she peeked over the barrier and fired off a couple of shots into the advancing troops. There were more than she was expecting, though in retrospect, she should have expected twice the amount that were out there. She and Barton were dealing with drug runners, and this particular cartel was famous for never leaving an enemy alive. She hazarded another look over the wall, and turned to Barton. "How do you want to play this?"_

_He stared at her, completely ignoring the volley of bullets slamming into their cover. "Are you seriously giving me point?"_

_"Would you rather follow my lead?"_

_The stupid look on his face was immediately a scowl. "Let's take a look at where your lead got us, shall we? You didn't have to shoot first."_

_Ignoring him, she fired into the advancing troops, dropping their numbers by four. Laying down a blanket of cover fire, she gave Barton a moment to think._

_"If we take opposite sides of this barrier, we can block their move to surround us," he planned absently. "We herd them into that warehouse, and take it down on top of them. It's already structurally unsound, anyway." He glanced at her. "Any objections?"_

_"I'll follow your lead," she replied, and he shot her an indecipherable look. Motioning her towards the west end of the wall, he turned to the eastern side and began taking out the few scouts that were heading their way._

_It was a sign that she was losing sight of her training when Barton's visage rose in her mind rather than her targets. There had been something inscrutable in his face and the fact that she didn't know what it was irked her. She could normally read him like a book._

_The bullet slammed into her left shoulder, completely unexpected, and she cried out wordlessly in surprise. _

_"Natasha!"_

_She frowned at his use of her name, and cursed herself for her lapse of focus. "It's fine, Hawkeye," she replied, stressing his codename in a subtle chastisement to his breach of protocol. She consciously ignored the desperate tone to his voice._

_Sensing weakness, the cartel's forces pressed closer to her position, and their firing rate increased. Barton shot off one last arrow into the melee in front of him and moved to her position._

_"Fine," he growled, passing her the field med kit from his belt, "does not mean leaking blood like a sieve from a bullet hole."_

_"I'll be sure to note that in my dictionary." He cracked a smile at her jab as he moved into position, slightly in front of her and to her left. She wrinkled her nose, chafing at the body so close to her space, when it happened._

_In what had to be a subconscious response, he shifted, and her world clicked into place. It felt like he was an extension of herself, that he was wherever she needed him to be without having to tell him to be there. He'd covered her before, that was part of the job, but it had never felt like this._

_They moved fluidly with each other, patiently taking down the remains of the first wave of attackers without having a spoken plan. Natasha was systematically picking their defenses apart, forcing them to retreat for cover in what remained of an old warehouse. Barton took care of the few snipers there to challenge him, picking off the outliers with grace, and weakening the ruined wall they were hiding behind._

_In the single most amazing experience she'd ever had, she simply turned to her head his way to indicate that she was ready. With no sign of acknowledgement, he fitted his second to last arrow shaft with another explosive tip, fired it into the base of the most unsound wall in the building, and clicked the detonation button. The blast was concussive, and he slammed a hand on her back, pushing her down and curling his body over hers._

_When the dust settled and no shots rang out, he let her up to peer into the ruined warehouse. Pain was pulsing down her arm, and her shoulder was slowly going numb, a clear sign that she needed to get patched up and fast. The cartel's forces were silent, either dead or too injured to matter anymore, and she relaxed. Nodding confirmation that they'd succeeded, she turned to him. His hair was white with concrete dust and there were black sooty streaks on his face, but he was giving her a shit-eating grin that she was coming to realize was innately Barton. His eyes raked over her smaller frame, lingering on the blood seeping through the hasty bandage on her arm._

_"You alright there, partner?"_

_The word 'partner' shouldn't have pierced her like it did, but she realized that it was the most apt description for whatever it was that they had. She waited for the realization to jar her, for her mind to rebel against the thought that she relied on anyone, but it never came. When her silence started to stretch into something uncomfortable, she threw him a small, genuine smile._

_"Yeah," she said. "I am."_

* * *

Clint stroked a hand down her arm. "So that was when I became your partner?"

"No," she corrected, snuggling closer to him. "That was when I finally thought of you as a partner."

She could feel him frown down at her. "There's a difference?"

"Yes."

Clint rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, darlin'."

They were silent for a few minutes, but something niggled at the back of Natasha's mind. As she retraced the conversation in her mind, it clicked. Pulling away, she braced herself on his chest. "So, how do you remember Budapest?"

* * *

_Natasha dripped blood all the way back to the hotel, and Clint was beginning to worry at the way her skin was paling. They skirted the lobby and climbed up the fire escape to their floor. He broke in a window to the stairwell and turned to help her over the shards that remained in the sill. She sent him a damning glare, but accepted his assistance anyway, which really concerned him. Leading her to the room, he finally switched his comm back on and called Coulson._

_"Hawkeye calling Mother," he murmured, letting Natasha cross the threshold before him. "Hawkeye calling Mother, do you copy?"_

_"What the hell did you do?"_

_Clint grinned tiredly at Coulson's voice. "I missed you too, honey." At Coulson's weighted silence, he sighed. "The Widow's cover was blown and we were ambushed at the rendezvous."_

_"How did they find you two?" Coulson's voice was less harsh and more concerned. "You were just supposed to retrieve her initial findings at a mutual location and break for the second phase."_

_Clint watched her sharply as she eased her uniform off of her injured shoulder, wincing with her when it snagged. "We chose the old warehouse district to meet because it was out of the way and we couldn't be seen," Clint replied absently, tracking Natasha's movements across the room to the tiny bathroom. She scowled halfheartedly at him as she passed. "I'm guessing they chose it because no one would complain about the sounds of gunfire when they practiced their guerilla tactics."_

_The shower flipped on, creating white noise that only served to highlight the fact that Coulson was impeccably silent on the other end of the comms. "You planned your meet for the training grounds of your target's militia force?"_

_"Some guys have all the luck," he said flippantly in response, and then sobered. "I chose the meet location three weeks ago when we got this assignment. She said that the troops practiced in a different location each time, chosen the morning of training. It was coincidence, Mother. Nothing more."_

_Coulson sighed. "Roger that. In light of this information, I'm instructing the extraction team to wait, take some time to clear the area. They'll pick you up at rendezvous Charlie in forty-eight hours."_

_Clint snarled. "Widow is injured. Can't you speed up the timeline?"_

_"Is it critical?"_

_Clint bit back his initial reply of "she's my partner, of course it's fucking critical" and instead ran a hand through his hair, thinking. After a few moments, he sighed, frustrated. "It's not currently life-threatening, no."_

_"Acknowledged. Patch her up as best you can, Hawkeye. We'll have a medical team on board the rendezvous aircraft. Out."_

_Clint clicked off his comm and tossed in his duffel, listening absently to the sound of the shower turning off. She emerged, clothed from the bottom down in a pair of his sweats, one hand crossed across her bare chest to maintain pressure on the wound._

_He kept his eyes level with hers, knowing she'd have no issue giving him a matching wound for ogling her. She was perfectly comfortable around him in any state of dress. He could tune her out in most situations, but having his incredibly attractive partner wearing nothing but a pair of his ragged old sweatpants was doing nothing to help his libido. The richly dark blood leaking through the bandage, however, was._

_"Take a seat." He gestured towards the bed, rifling through his bag for the more complete med kit. She gently leaned against the headboard, leaving her injured shoulder available for his perusal._

_The bullet had gone all the way through and the blood had started to crust, to his grim satisfaction. It clearly wasn't as bad as he'd thought it was, a clean through and through, but infection was always a danger. Ripping open a packet of alcohol wipes, he pulled one out and started swiping it across the hole in her shoulder. She cringed, biting her lip. His gut clenched as he remembered the inarticulate scream in the middle of their firefight. No woman should be able to make a sound that desperate, he thought angrily to himself, and his movements became jerkier in his agitation._

_Glancing up at her, he saw her eyeing him with mild interest and he consciously gentled his touch. She showed no weakness when he threaded the needle and began to sew the wound shut, something he was grateful for. Clint had acknowledged a long time ago that he was falling in love with his partner, but he chose to ignore it on a daily basis. Seeing her in pain, however, brought his protective alpha-male instincts to the surface, to his disgruntled dismay._

_He kept his face carefully blank, knowing that she was watching him, as he finished stitching her up and began to clean up the instruments. Clint walked to the bathroom to wash his hands, and emerged to find Natasha waiting at the threshold. She stared at him, scrutinizing, for a few minutes until he sighed tiredly._

_"Did you need something?"_

_In response, she raised herself to her toes, curled one hand around the back of his neck, and pulled him down hard to meet her lips._

_As they stumbled to the bed, Clint didn't bother asking anything else._

* * *

He grinned leeringly at her and she swatted at him in mock disgust. "Be serious," she chided, grateful that he was chuckling at her, making the shadows in his eyes recede.

Clint settled, pulling her back against him. "The way I remember it, we did become partners there, but it was a little different than your perspective.

She sighed, relaxing against him. "To-may-to, to-mah-to, right?"

He dropped a kiss into her hair as her breathing evened out with sleep. "Right."

_Fin._


End file.
